Stupid Boy
Page 20
My heels thumped against the paved walk as I made my way to the café. A breeze wafted through and rustled the leaves on the flowering pear trees that lined the walk. Winston’s buildings rose from the darkness like so many ancient fortresses; looming, protective, with Olivia’s observatory as the beacon. I liked it here, really.
The café doors had just opened, and inside the warm air smelled like the gingerbread candle burning on the counter. The girl by the register wasn’t a student, but we were familiar. She usually worked the morning shift and knew I’d always be her first customer.
“Hi, Lily,” I said, quietly selecting my instant package of cinnamon raisin oatmeal and a small carton of whole milk. I handed both to her.
“Morning, Harper,” she replied with a bright smile. She was a little older than me, with pale skin and strawberry blonde curls she kept piled high on her head. “That’ll be a dollar fifty.”
I handed her two dollars, she returned fifty cents and a cup and spoon for my oatmeal, and I then dropped the other bill I had into her tip jar. She grinned. “Thanks, as always.”
I smiled and gave her a slight nod. “No problem.” At the coffee bar I hastily prepared my oatmeal with hot water and a few pumps from the half n’ half carafe. Then I headed back outside and started toward the fountain. Once there, I took the bench directly across from it, sat, and stirred my oatmeal.
“Do you always eat alone?”
I jumped at the sound of Kane’s voice. He emerged from the darkness, his alabaster skin stark against his dark hair and the even darker morning. “Why are you following me?” I didn’t look at him; I spooned a small bit of oatmeal into my mouth and chewed, biting into a raisin.
He moved closer, eased down onto the bench beside me, and the motion made the scent of his leather jacket and soapy skin reach my nostrils. It was a piney mint combination that I found I actually liked. In one hand, a steaming cup of coffee from the café, its bitter aroma rising in a cloud of steam through the little slotted spout in the lid. Leaning forward, resting his forearms against his knees, he looked straight ahead at the fountain. Sipped his coffee. I found it interesting, too, that I hadn’t leapt off the bench, ready to bolt.
“I guess you sort of drive me crazy,” he finally responded. “I wasn’t following you, Harper. I saw you leaving the café.” He looked at me over his shoulder, sipped his coffee, then shrugged. His mouth lifted in a half-grin, and his eyes simmered. “Then I followed you.”
I continued eating my oatmeal, because I really didn’t know what to say to any of that. I sipped my milk, took another bite. “I like the early morning. Before anyone else is awake.” I slipped him a glance. “It’s…peaceful.”
“It is,” he agreed. “Here, anyway. Back home? Never.”
Nevah. His Boston accent was unique; heavy, sultry, soft all at once. Void of all r’s. I liked it. And I kept it to myself.
My mind scrambled as I sifted around for something to say. Don’t forget the Dare, Harper. That’s first and foremost, don’t forget. He’s running illegal bets out of the Kappa House. Stop him from gambling, hurt the Kappas, do a favor for Brax. I spooned the remaining oatmeal into my mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then sipped my milk. Gathered my courage. “Would you like to help out with the Turkey Run tomorrow?”
Kane leaned back, his long legs sprawled in the way guys do, and looked at me. “What’s that?”
“It’s a benefit five-k run that we sponsor each year before Thanksgiving,” I answered. “People pay a fee to enter, we provide bottled water and snacks, and two-thirds of the proceeds go to purchasing holiday turkeys for the shelters and soup kitchens in the surrounding counties.”
He nodded. “We as in…?”
“My sorority.”
He shoved a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier than before. “See, there you go again.”
I blinked. “What?”
Kane ducked his dark head and searched my face. The inky morning had begun to lighten, and his faced seemed beautifully flawless and ghostly at the same time. Those eyes, though…wise beyond his years. I could tell, something stood behind them, something almost familiar. Something I recognized…but not quite. And that scared me.
“Like a masquerade,” he said softly. “You seem one way on the outside—rich, perfect, better than everyone else. But then you eat a sparse meal alone on park benches at six in the morning. Meticulously separating yourself from everyone—even your own sorority sisters.” His lip quirked in the corner. “And you gather turkeys for the homeless.” His eyes never left mine. “A severe contradiction, Ms. Belle.”
I swallowed my fear at his articulate speech and all-too-accurate description. “Well,” I said, my voice as quiet as the morning. “That’s an amazing hypothesis of my character, having only encountered me a few days ago.” I looked at him now, meeting his gaze and forcing myself to hold it. “Coming from a guy who wanders onto a college campus hundreds of miles from home to illegally run bets out of a frat house.” I cocked my head. “Pretty well-spoken for a thug.”
Those coffee colored eyes shined as he watched me closely, seemingly inspecting every one of my features as if trying to pick me apart, or trying to see through a seam, a hairline crack I might have left behind to show my true self. I’d been careful over the years. Yet…he seemed to get closer than anyone. And fast.
The café doors had just opened, and inside the warm air smelled like the gingerbread candle burning on the counter. The girl by the register wasn’t a student, but we were familiar. She usually worked the morning shift and knew I’d always be her first customer.
“Hi, Lily,” I said, quietly selecting my instant package of cinnamon raisin oatmeal and a small carton of whole milk. I handed both to her.
“Morning, Harper,” she replied with a bright smile. She was a little older than me, with pale skin and strawberry blonde curls she kept piled high on her head. “That’ll be a dollar fifty.”
I handed her two dollars, she returned fifty cents and a cup and spoon for my oatmeal, and I then dropped the other bill I had into her tip jar. She grinned. “Thanks, as always.”
I smiled and gave her a slight nod. “No problem.” At the coffee bar I hastily prepared my oatmeal with hot water and a few pumps from the half n’ half carafe. Then I headed back outside and started toward the fountain. Once there, I took the bench directly across from it, sat, and stirred my oatmeal.
“Do you always eat alone?”
I jumped at the sound of Kane’s voice. He emerged from the darkness, his alabaster skin stark against his dark hair and the even darker morning. “Why are you following me?” I didn’t look at him; I spooned a small bit of oatmeal into my mouth and chewed, biting into a raisin.
He moved closer, eased down onto the bench beside me, and the motion made the scent of his leather jacket and soapy skin reach my nostrils. It was a piney mint combination that I found I actually liked. In one hand, a steaming cup of coffee from the café, its bitter aroma rising in a cloud of steam through the little slotted spout in the lid. Leaning forward, resting his forearms against his knees, he looked straight ahead at the fountain. Sipped his coffee. I found it interesting, too, that I hadn’t leapt off the bench, ready to bolt.
“I guess you sort of drive me crazy,” he finally responded. “I wasn’t following you, Harper. I saw you leaving the café.” He looked at me over his shoulder, sipped his coffee, then shrugged. His mouth lifted in a half-grin, and his eyes simmered. “Then I followed you.”
I continued eating my oatmeal, because I really didn’t know what to say to any of that. I sipped my milk, took another bite. “I like the early morning. Before anyone else is awake.” I slipped him a glance. “It’s…peaceful.”
“It is,” he agreed. “Here, anyway. Back home? Never.”
Nevah. His Boston accent was unique; heavy, sultry, soft all at once. Void of all r’s. I liked it. And I kept it to myself.
My mind scrambled as I sifted around for something to say. Don’t forget the Dare, Harper. That’s first and foremost, don’t forget. He’s running illegal bets out of the Kappa House. Stop him from gambling, hurt the Kappas, do a favor for Brax. I spooned the remaining oatmeal into my mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then sipped my milk. Gathered my courage. “Would you like to help out with the Turkey Run tomorrow?”
Kane leaned back, his long legs sprawled in the way guys do, and looked at me. “What’s that?”
“It’s a benefit five-k run that we sponsor each year before Thanksgiving,” I answered. “People pay a fee to enter, we provide bottled water and snacks, and two-thirds of the proceeds go to purchasing holiday turkeys for the shelters and soup kitchens in the surrounding counties.”
He nodded. “We as in…?”
“My sorority.”
He shoved a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier than before. “See, there you go again.”
I blinked. “What?”
Kane ducked his dark head and searched my face. The inky morning had begun to lighten, and his faced seemed beautifully flawless and ghostly at the same time. Those eyes, though…wise beyond his years. I could tell, something stood behind them, something almost familiar. Something I recognized…but not quite. And that scared me.
“Like a masquerade,” he said softly. “You seem one way on the outside—rich, perfect, better than everyone else. But then you eat a sparse meal alone on park benches at six in the morning. Meticulously separating yourself from everyone—even your own sorority sisters.” His lip quirked in the corner. “And you gather turkeys for the homeless.” His eyes never left mine. “A severe contradiction, Ms. Belle.”
I swallowed my fear at his articulate speech and all-too-accurate description. “Well,” I said, my voice as quiet as the morning. “That’s an amazing hypothesis of my character, having only encountered me a few days ago.” I looked at him now, meeting his gaze and forcing myself to hold it. “Coming from a guy who wanders onto a college campus hundreds of miles from home to illegally run bets out of a frat house.” I cocked my head. “Pretty well-spoken for a thug.”
Those coffee colored eyes shined as he watched me closely, seemingly inspecting every one of my features as if trying to pick me apart, or trying to see through a seam, a hairline crack I might have left behind to show my true self. I’d been careful over the years. Yet…he seemed to get closer than anyone. And fast.
